


Crown of Thorns

by PsychicBeagle



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Character Death, Like Undertale But in Poem Form!, Rhyming, Very Angry Goats
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-03
Updated: 2016-03-03
Packaged: 2018-05-24 14:15:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6156254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PsychicBeagle/pseuds/PsychicBeagle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The once great King of Monsters, reduced to a shell who hardly roams beyond his castle's walls. What happened?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Crown of Thorns

_Slow, heavy drums sound in the distance._

 

Oh good King Asgore

Seated on his throne,

On left a wife, on right a son,

A kingdom he doth call his own.

Her people fair,

In spite of despair,

Till the rise,

Of the forsaken heir.

 

One average morn,

A creature fell unto his plane.

Its face was pale,

Twisted in agony, in pain.

Its barren flesh, a sign he knew,

Of the sun touched lands, the human race.

Under his wing he took the youth,

As a child in this forgotten place.

 

_Flutes join the fray, a light, uplifting melody._

 

Light shined forth

And life was well,

Hope had returned

When the human fell.

The young prince found joy

with his sibling dear,

Ever closer

Did they draw near,

Till the dawn,

Of that fateful day.

 

_The joyous flutes become haunting._

 

The sun did rise

To find the human writhing in pain.

No prying eyes could e’er find

What sent this youth into dis’rray

The cold hand of fate

Was hanging overhead.

When offered help, the young prince did,

His sibling leaned in close and said,

“I wish to see, just one more time,

The flowers from that village, mine.

Please, brother dear, before my rest,

Grant me this one last request.”

 

The floral wish

Of the child of man

Strayed just beyond

Their reaching hands.

‘Neath the Earth

Did this people dwell,

Sealed away

By a wicked spell.

Cast aside, from the gaze of man,

Forced to live far from the day.

The true pain wrought was for them not,

But for the child’s star crossed fate.

 

_The flutes go silent, violins taking their place._

 

Their desire unanswered,

Their sickness too great,

The human did perish

In their brother’s embrace.

From the pit of their body

A power did rise.

It shined of their spirit,

The strength in their eyes.

The young prince had known it,

The essence of Soul,

And so he grasped it

Not knowing its toll.

 

From the Underground,

The prince did flee,

The strength of his sibling

All he did need,

To pass to the surface

Through the magic of man

To grant their last wish,

The flowers of their homeland.

But when he arrived,

Sibling’s body in hand,

The people did scream,

His blood they demand.

For fear of this creature,

The monster of yore,

They took up their spears

And at his flesh they tore.

 

He ran back to his father,

The home that he knew,

And there he collapsed,

His eyes losing their hue.

In the arms of his mother,

Did he breath his last.

Across their great garden,

His dust was cast.

 

_The violins become droned out by the bellowing of a bassoon._

 

From good King Asgore,

A fire did fly.

His heart caught in fury,

For revenge, his soul cried.

He called forth his people

And to them he said,

“They’ve taken our children,

So we’ll have their heads.

Should they fall down here,

Take thee their Soul.

With this great power,

This land will lose its hold.

The barrier falls,

And their kind will be next.

For this grave insult,

Their futures are thus hexed.”

 

Oh good King Asgore,

How little you know.

Heard you not of Brutus,

How his blood doth flow?

Thy anger breeds nothing

But agony and shame.

Your world will soon crumble

In your wrath, this flame.

 

_Bassoon replaced by a low cello._

 

His wife, Toriel,

Sickened by his claim,

Stole from their castle

In the shroud of rain.

For her loss, the king wept,

Though he had to march on,

His soul was set

On avenging his son.

Throughout his world,

This warpath was torn,

To bearing their blades

Were his good subjects sworn.

Any human who fell

Met with magic and sword.

All to appease

The good king’s enraged word.

 

_Cello falls silent. A violin fills the void alongside the drums._

 

Decades then passed,

The king falling to grief,

Under the weight of the humans

Whose souls he had reaped.

Rage brought him nothing

But pain and sorrow.

The once great halls of his castle

Were crestfallen and hollow.

A hero he was,

But now it’s no more,

For the price of his sin

Had been his heart, his core.

His once mighty mantle

Lay unclaimed on the floor,

And deep down within

His condition was poor.

Steps met his ears,

And soon followed a child,

The human had found him

In the garden his son had soiled.

He took up his trident,

The human a knife,

Though it brought nothing

But more endless strife.

But cared did he not,

On his ground he must stay,

All to right the wrongs…

 

_All goes quiet._

 

…Of that fateful day.

 

_Drums roll once more over the landscape._

 

**Author's Note:**

> Just me trying my hand at something new. Thinking of writing up something like this for the other main characters. What do you guys think?


End file.
